The Video Call With a Stranger That Made Me Come

That afternoon the house was silent and I’d been wandering from room to room for hours, not knowing what to do with myself. It was hot, the fan turned slowly overhead, and I was bored, restless, with that dull sort of heat that settles into your body and won’t let you focus on anything. I had tried reading, I had tried watching a series, but everything felt bland compared to what my mind had been asking for since noon.

My name is Camila, and if you’ve read anything of mine before, you’ll already know I enjoy exploring my own body without guilt or shame. I have big breasts, firm ass cheeks, and a curiosity that has often led me to try things “decent” girls never admit to. Masturbation was never a consolation prize to me. It is a pleasure in itself, a territory where I’m in charge and where I can be as dirty as I please.

I started as I almost always do: lying on the bed, phone in hand, looking for photos that would turn me on. Bodies, hands, mouths, close-ups that made me squeeze my thighs together. But that afternoon the images weren’t enough. I wanted something alive, something that would respond, something that would really look at me. I wanted to feel desired in real time, not by a silent screen.

So I opened one of those adult chat rooms, the kind you enter without thinking too much and leave just as quickly if nothing appeals to you. I typed for a while, turning down a few pests, until a different message popped up. A calm guy, direct without being rude, who suggested something that made my skin prickle the moment I read it.

—I just want to jerk off for a while watching you —he wrote—. If you show me your tits, I’m happy. No need for our faces to show.

The filthy appeal of the idea hit me immediately. The anonymity, not knowing who he was or him knowing who I was, made everything more exciting, not less. Two strangers giving each other pleasure at the same time, no real names, no promises, nothing to remember the next day except the orgasm. I said yes before I could change my mind.

We moved to a video call. Before turning on the cameras, we chatted a little, described ourselves, I told him I had generous breasts, and he let me know he was already hard from the moment I said yes. I was nervous, I admit it. It was the first time I’d done anything like that and my heart was pounding as if I were about to jump off a very high diving board. But the nerves were mixed with an enormous urge to cross that line.

When I finally activated my phone camera, the first thing that appeared on my screen was his hand moving slowly up and down. He already had it out, completely hard, a good size, thick, with a prominent vein running along the whole length. It looked delicious. I swallowed. I couldn’t see his face, only his torso and that cock stroking itself without hurry, waiting for me.

—Your turn —he wrote in the chat beside it, because we had agreed not to use our voices to keep the mystery alive.

I took a deep breath. I sat up a little straighter against the headboard, adjusted the angle of the phone and, slowly, pulled my blouse over my head. The bra came off after that. When my breasts were bare in front of the camera, I saw his hand pause for a second, as if he needed to take in what he was seeing.

—Fuck, what huge tits —he typed quickly—. So fucking hot, seriously.

He likes them. He really likes them.

—They’re all yours —I replied—. Enjoy them.

And enjoy them he did. I started moving for him, playing with my own body knowing every gesture was turning him on even more. I squeezed my breasts together with both hands, shook them gently, pinched my nipples until they were hard and sensitive. I stuck out my tongue and pretended I was going to lick them, stopping just short of touching, leaving it millimeters away, stretching out that torment that was driving him crazy on the other side.

The stranger’s hand moved harder and harder. I could see how he gripped himself, how he went faster and faster, setting a rhythm that grew more urgent by the second, and that image was making me wetter inside in a way I hadn’t expected. He wasn’t touching me yet and I could already feel my panties damp, stuck to me.

It was an absolutely filthy situation. He was giving himself pleasure while looking at me, I was putting myself on display for him, and between the two of us we had built, in a matter of minutes, a strange, dirty, perfect intimacy. We didn’t know each other at all and yet we were giving one another exactly what we needed.

—I’m close —he wrote, and I could almost hear his ragged breathing through the screen.

I leaned toward the camera, let my breasts fill the whole image, and that was the last thing he needed. His hand sped up suddenly, his torso tensed, and from the head of his cock came a thick spurt that splattered all over his hand and belly. I watched him come without hiding it, completely surrendered, and I swear that knowing I had caused it left me right on the edge of the cliff.

As soon as he finished, we ended the call. No long goodbyes, no swapping numbers, nothing. Just as we had agreed. And there I was, alone again in my silent room, body on fire and a heat I had no intention of leaving half-finished.

***

I ran my hand over my panties and immediately felt how soaked I was. I pulled them aside and stroked my sex with the tips of my fingers, slowly, tracing soft circles over my clit. What a delicious feeling. I let out a sigh and tipped my head back against the pillow.

I wasn’t going to stop there. I grabbed my phone again and looked for images to finish setting me alight, explicit photos, big veiny cocks, one after another. Every time an especially thick one appeared, or one with dark skin, I felt a hot stab in my lower belly and my fingers moved faster. My arousal kept building without restraint. I was wetter than I’d been in weeks.

At that point I needed more than my fingers. I wanted to feel something inside, something that would fill the emptiness my heat had opened in me. I looked around for something to play with, and my eyes landed on a small glass bottle on my nightstand, with a smooth rounded tip, the perfect size, almost as if it had been made for this.

I picked it up and, for a moment, thought about pushing it into my pussy. But another idea, dirtier, more forbidden, crossed my mind and made me bite my lip. Why not try it from behind while I masturbated in front? The mere thought tightened my stomach with pure desire.

I reached for the lubricant in the drawer and coated the bottle well. I lay on my side, lifted one leg and pressed the cold, slippery tip against the entrance to my ass. I pushed carefully. Since it wasn’t very thick, it went in with barely any resistance, but the sensation was intense, unlike anything else, a new pressure that pulled a long moan out of the bottom of my chest.

I adjusted it carefully and left it nestled inside, still, while I brought my other hand back to my clit. Oh, fuck. The double sensation overwhelmed me. My pussy soaked even more, if that was even possible, and my arousal climbed several notches at once. Every time I squeezed the muscle a little, I felt the bottle shift inside me and a shiver ran through my whole body.

I went back to the photos with my free hand. I chose an image of a huge, dark, vein-striped cock and closed my eyes, imagining it was the thing I had buried in back there. I imagined that stranger from the video call fucking me while holding my hips, whispering how delicious I was. My fingers flew over my clit, fast, precise, while the bottle stayed firm in my ass, filling me completely.

The tension gathered in my belly like a wave that refused to break. I arched on the bed, my fingers slipping in my own wetness, my breathing choppy. I was right at the edge, suspended, about to fall.

And I fell.

The orgasm shook me from head to toe. It was one of the most intense I remember, a jolt that made me tremble and clamp my legs together while pleasure rolled through me in waves, with the bottle buried all the way inside intensifying everything. I came hard, for a long time, biting my lip so I wouldn’t scream and wake the neighbors.

When the last wave finally faded, I lay there gasping, skin covered in sweat, a stupid smile on my face. Slowly, I pulled the bottle out. Doing it, I felt a small emptiness, an almost melancholy absence, and I laughed to myself thinking how much I had enjoyed having it inside me.

I pulled the sheet over myself and stayed like that for a while, going over everything: the stranger, his hand, his words, the filthy thrill of being watched by someone with no face, the boldness of improvising a toy with the first thing I found. A boring afternoon had turned into one of the best orgasms of my life, and all because I dared to look for something different when my body asked for it.

That’s the conclusion I reached, lying there and still throbbing: pleasure doesn’t wait for anyone to come and give it to you. Sometimes all it takes is a screen, a stranger willing to watch, and the urge to let go without asking permission. I learned not to deny myself anything, and ever since then every boring afternoon has just been an invitation to try something new.